


let’s stop before it gets messy

by owenwilsonvevo



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Choking, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kink Exploration, Lingerie, M/M, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 02:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owenwilsonvevo/pseuds/owenwilsonvevo
Summary: “Please,” he breathes again. “I want it so bad.”“What do you want, baby?” Brian murmurs. His voice is low and gravelly and Roger wants it so, so much. “Tell me what you want.”Roger’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and he wants it so bad he can’t keep pretending that he doesn’t. “I want you to piss on me,” he gasps.or,wants and needs.





	let’s stop before it gets messy

**Author's Note:**

> hello sluts here’s the piss kink I promised y’all xxxxxxxx
> 
> there were a couple of different takes on what the piss kink fic should be and bladder control was the most popular and yet I still wrote this instead! am i definitely still gonna write a bladder control fic because I love exploring roger’s piss kink? yes so be on the lookout for that 
> 
> that being said, this fic is literally just roger getting pissed on so if that’s not your thing maybe steer clear of this you won’t enjoy it at all 
> 
> sorry not sorry about it xxxxxxxx

It starts with a hint of an idea. 

It’s formed somewhere in the very back of Roger’s mind, a rosebud. It blossoms there, wedged in a shadowy corner where it grows and starts to flourish as he tries to ignore it. 

Really, it starts with porn, as these things sometimes do. 

He’d never lived under a rock, so he’d already known it was a thing. He wasn’t oblivious, but it was never something he spent a lot of time thinking about. He hadn’t given it any thought, really, until Brian left. It was a research trip for school, somewhere in the moors of Scotland. He’d be gone for a month, and all things considered a month isn’t very long, but Roger’s always been a very clingy person, needy and kind of codependent. More than anything, he doesn’t like to be alone. He’s always been the sort of person that needs somebody else around, keeping him company, keeping him from being by himself. Brian’s always been that person for him, even before they had started dating, even before their relationship had become a serious, permanent thing and they’d moved in together. The move had happened forever ago, nearly three years, but Brian had been his best mate for an eternity before that. It was usually Brian he called when he was feeling lonely or in need of attention or if he just needed somebody to come and take up space in his flat. Before he moved in with Brian he’d lived with Freddie, and as much as Roger loved him, Freddie had never made a habit of spending a lot of time in their flat. Sometimes Roger would beg Brian to come around, even if it was just to sit on the couch and do his own thing, coursework or something, not even speaking with Roger if he didn’t feel like talking, just so Roger could have somebody else around. Living with Brian hadn’t been that different from living without Brian because Brian had always been around, anyway. He doesn’t think they’ve spent more than a couple of days apart since the day they‘d met, let alone thirty days at a time. 

It made for a very lonely thirty days. The flat is too quiet when Roger’s alone, and Freddie comes by whenever he isn’t at work or at school, and sometimes he’ll bring his new boyfriend, Deaky, and they keep him company as much as they can, but it isn’t enough. He’s taken to playing music at top volume or turning the telly up way too high just so he has some sort of background noise to keep him company. The woman that lives upstairs is bitter and horrible and she’s already complained three times, but it works well enough otherwise. 

When it doesn’t work, he calls Brian, and Brian will Skype him whenever he has the time or the reception. Given that they’ve never really spent any time apart, they’d never really had a reason to try Skype sex, and if Roger had to pick a silver lining about Brian leaving, that’s what it would be. After getting over the initial awkwardness of the whole thing, Roger learned pretty quickly that he really gets off on being on camera, and that Brian really gets off on watching him get off. Unfortunately, Brian isn’t free every second of every day, and some days find him without free time or even cell phone service. So, porn. 

Roger isn’t sure if he’s actually horny or if he’s just lonely but he’s looking, anyway, sprawled across his bed with his laptop open on his chest. He’s scrolling through a website with a black backdrop and bright red text, and he isn’t really looking for anything in particular so he pulls open a video mostly at random. The only thing that really draws him to it is the considerable height difference between the two blokes in the thumbnail, but it seems like a good a reason as any so he lets the video fill the screen. It saves him the trouble of having to live through the awful, almost sad acting that happens in porn and instead, they get into it pretty quickly. The video opens in the shower, there’s water and a bit of rutting and then the young looking, doe eyed twink is sinking to his knees. With absolutely no warning, the other bloke, bearded, with a neck tattoo, curls a hand around his cock and pisses all over the twink at his feet. In theory, it should be kind of disgusting. In reality, it makes Roger dizzyingly hard. He stops just long enough to close the browser before he slams his laptop shut. 

He doesn’t think about it again. He brushes it off as being horny and lonely and doesn’t let himself think about it. He turns a blind eye to it as it blooms at the very back of his mind and pretends he doesn’t notice it as the bloom grows, morphs into something larger and harder to ignore. It starts with a rosebud and six minutes of porn but he’s able to ignore it, to pretend that it hadn’t made him so hard he had ached for it. 

He’s always been pretty good at ignoring his problems, but this problem in particular hadn’t wanted to be ignored. It had kept growing, unfurling inside of Roger, filling him with it. He ignores it but as he ignores it, the thing grows, bigger and stronger and more forceful. It picks away at his resolve, and it comes crumbling down around him when Brian’s finally home, when he’s back from Scotland and their band has been reunited and they’d just played a show in a pub not far from their flat. It’s their first show since Freddie had talked them into letting Deaky replace their last bassist and he’s amazing. The show goes impeccably, and after it’s done they stick around the pub and a group of girls flock to Roger to buy him so many shots the world starts to spin around him. He slumps into a stool at the bar, leans away from the bird with her hand on his arm, trying her damndest to chat him up as he scours the room for the long term boyfriend that she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that he has. 

He finds him quickly, tall enough that he makes it easy to find him in a crowd. He’s leaning against a far wall, long legs stretched out in front of him. His jeans are skin tight and the sweater he’s wearing is definitely Roger’s, because it’s a size too small for him and it rides up his stomach when he lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair. He catches Roger’s eye from across the room, lifts an eyebrow, smirks at him in that way that always makes something hot and needy unfurl in the pit of Roger’s stomach. 

_I want him to piss on me_ , he thinks, and it’s the most coherent thought he’s had since he’d started drinking. He jerks. 

He jerks so hard he nearly falls from the stool, and the girl sitting next to him actually does her part to keep him from falling face first into the ground. “Are you okay?” She asks, but her voice is suddenly kind of distant, muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat as it quickens in chest because now, he’s getting hard.

He’s getting hard in a crowded pub because he’s watching Brian across the room, long legs and long fingers as he talks to John and talks with his hands. He thinks of Brian lifting himself from the wall, striding over to Roger, curling those long fingers into his hair as he forces him from the barstool and onto his knees on the floor. 

_Good boy_ , he’d murmur, right there, in the middle of the crowded pub, all eyes on them, and then he’d ease the length of his cock from his jeans and he’d piss all over Roger. He’d do it right there, in the middle of the crowded pub while everybody watched them, while everybody watched Brian mark him, while Brian made sure that everybody in that crowded pub knew who Roger belonged to. 

“Woah,” the girl says as he staggers to his feet, but he can barely hear her over how loudly his blood is rushing in his ears. She tries to make him sit back down but he shrugs out of her grip and crosses the room with shaky, unsteady strides. Brian barely has time to look up before Roger’s on him, curling his fingers around the back of Brian’s throat and pulling him down into a kiss that’s so hard it’s probably bruising. It kind of hurts, how hard his lips are moving against Brian’s, the sting of Brian’s teeth as he bites down on Roger’s lower lip; it kind of hurts but it’s so good and Roger needs it so much. He thinks again of Brian forcing him to his knees, of Brian thumbing across his swollen lower lip as he pisses in his face. Something like a whimper is ripped from his chest and somebody near to them, maybe John, whistles loudly. Roger‘s panting softly and his chest is heaving and he wants so, so much for Brian to pee on him when he breaks away, pulling him closer so he can turn his head and brush his lips against the shell of his ear. 

One of Brian’s hands settles low on Roger’s hip, the other on the swell of his arse. His breath hitches quietly, lips moving against Brian’s ear as he whispers, “I want you.” 

Brian’s hand tightens on his ass and Roger isn’t sure if he’s drunk on the alcohol or the feeling of Brian’s huge hands on him, holding him so close that he can feel the press of Brian’s cock against his own. “I need you inside me,” he whispers. “Please.” 

Brian’s high off the alcohol and the adrenaline and he doesn’t need much convincing. He kisses Roger again and he doesn’t stop until Roger feels like he’s drowning in it and the only thing that brings him up for air is Brian steering him away, out of the pub with a hand on his hip. There’s more whistles and a drunken, mostly sarcastic cheer but Roger isn’t the least bit embarrassed as he climbs into the back of his van and pulls Brian down on top of him, between his open legs. 

“Would you have fucked me inside, if I asked?” Roger murmurs, pressing his lips against the spot beneath Brian’s ear that always makes his dick twitch. “Right there, in front of all those people,” he whispers. “Would you have bent me over the bar? Showed everybody in there who I belong to?” Brian’s eyes are dark as Roger blinks up at him. “Showed them all what a slut I am for your cock? Would you let them watch as I begged for it?” 

They fuck fast and hard and messy. Brian bites at his skin and fucks him like he’s got something to prove and Roger comes with a cry at the feeling of Brian so deep inside him, at the thought of Brian’s long fingers pulling at his hair as he forces Roger to keep still as he pisses on him. He thinks of being forced to take it, of Brian crooning that he loves him as he drenches Roger with it, and Roger comes so hard he sees a supernova. 

It’s then he admits that maybe it isn’t just a rosebud anymore. It isn’t even just a rose, it’s an infestation, it’s a virus that had somehow seeped into his bloodstream and spread through every part of him. He wakes up the next morning, hungover but unarguably sober, and he still wants so badly he shakes as he thinks about it. It’s blossomed, this thing in him. He wants it so bad.

Still, he doesn’t tell Brian. Brian isn’t bland, exactly, and he’s definitely into weird things of his own — he really gets off on Roger wearing women’s underwear, for example. He really likes fucking in public places, too, like parks, or a golf course, once, but he isn’t into anything quite like this. Roger doesn’t think he’ll think any less of him because of it, but Brian is smarter and more put together and fractionally more refined than Roger is, so there’s definitely a chance he’ll be disgusted by just the idea. So Roger doesn’t bring it up. He watches weird porn on his own time and has the most intense orgasms of his life when he thinks about it and life goes on much the same. 

Except it isn’t quite the same, because he still wants. He wants so bad, and the festering monster the thing has become starts to claw at him from the inside the more he tries to ignore it. He wants, and the more he tries to pretend like he doesn’t the stronger, more forceful, more festering the thing gets and it makes Roger want even more. He wants it so bad that sometimes he aches with it, that each time he thinks about it he’s so hard it hurts.

Still, he tries to work through it on his own. He’s in the shower and it’s easy enough to let his mind wander, hand on his cock, head leaned against the tile. He daydreams about the sound of Brian’s voice, about the feel of his hands in his hair, about the slow, lazy way he says Roger’s name as he murmurs to him about how pretty he is, about what a good boy he is. Standing beneath the warm spray of the water, it‘s easy enough to close his eyes and be somewhere else, kneeling at Brian’s feet as Brian soaks him with it. Standing beneath the warm spray of the water, daydreaming about being _pissed_ on, for fuck’s sake, he comes so hard his legs aren’t able to hold him up, shaking through the aftershocks as he slides down the wall into the tub.

“Oh, fuck,” he says aloud. He wants it so bad. Each time he comes like this, thinking of it, instead of taking the edge off it just makes him want it more. The thing in him is desperate and needy and isn’t placated by lukewarm water and flashes of Brian behind his eyelids. He needs to fend it off with the real thing. He _wants_ the real thing. 

He hits his head against the tile but it doesn’t shake anything loose. He hits his head against the tile and a dull sort of pain throbs at the base of his skull but it does nothing to lessen the tight knot of need that’s settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach. 

Still shaking, he braces a hand against the wall. He stands slowly, unsteady on his feet, and climbs carefully from the shower. His reflection, waiting for him above the sink as he leans into the counter, greets him with ruddy cheeks and hooded eyes, damp hair matted to his forehead. 

There’s a part of him that almost wants to be embarrassed. He looks very, thoroughly disheveled as he shakes his way through the aftershocks of an orgasm that had knocked the wind out of him. He’d been thinking about Brian soaking him with it and he should definitely be embarrassed, there’s a part of him that almost wants to be, but he isn’t. He looks at himself, thoroughly fucked, in the mirror above the sink and he isn’t ashamed in the least. He’s never been a very shy person, especially when it came to sex, and he’s never really been anything but outspoken and demanding about what he wants, what he needs. He needs this, and he isn’t embarrassed about it. He wants it unashamedly, unabashedly, he wants it so badly it drowns out everything else and he doesn’t think he could be embarrassed if he wanted to. He wants to look at himself in the mirror and see himself looking much the same, ruddy cheeks and hooded eyes and sopping wet, but not with water. He’s into it, he’s desperate for it, there’s no way around it. He wants it, and he wants it so badly, but he might just have to live with that. The thing will keep growing and clawing its way out from inside him and he’ll keep pushing it back down, ignoring it. He’s into it, but he doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that Brian’s into it, too. He’s sure Brian would hate it, actually. He thinks there’s a chance Brian might even hate him for bringing it up. 

As soon as he feels steady enough that he can stand on his own, he wraps a towel around his waist and plods across the hall, into their bedroom. Brian’s in class, and he will be for at least the next few hours, so Roger’s left alone to nurture the desperate, frenzied need in him. It’s nearing the end of May, a warm, bright, early summer day, and Roger’s supposed to meet Freddie in a pub not far from the flat for light lunch and heavy day drinking. Originally, the plan had been to celebrate the sun and neither of them having classes the next day, but now Roger just really needs a drink, if anything to help numb the need that rises up in him in waves whenever he thinks about it too hard. 

He dresses quickly, shorts and sunnies and a sleeveless button down that used to both have sleeves and belong to Brian. He makes half an attempt to sort out his hair, leaving his wet towel in a pile on the bed as he leaves, grabbing his keys on his way out of the flat. The pub they’d decided on isn’t far so Roger walks, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. It isn’t hard to locate Freddie once he’s there, purposefully smudged eyeliner and a half knot. His shirt is more sequins than actual fabric, and Roger lifts an eyebrow as he slides into the booth across from him. “You’re looking very loud today,” he greets. 

“You look like you’re wearing sunglasses indoors,” Freddie replies easily. 

Roger grins, flipping them onto his head. “I have very sensitive eyes,” he says, and Freddie scoffs, sliding a shot glass across the table towards him. “What is it?”

“Does it matter?” Freddie asks. He lifts his glass and Roger mirrors him, tapping his shot against Freddie’s before he throws it back. It burns the entire way down. “Vodka, darling,” he says when Roger coughs. 

“I noticed,” Roger agrees. He clears his throat. 

Freddie laughs, settling back in the booth. “I’ll let you choose the next one,” he says. 

It’s been a while since they’ve had the chance to do this. Freddie works just as often as he’s in class and whenever he isn’t, he’s with Deaky. Roger doesn’t blame him for a second, school and work are both very valid excuses and his relationship with Deaky is still new and fresh and exciting. Roger isn’t entirely free of guilt, either. He isn’t in school nearly as often so he tries to pick up as many shifts at the clothing shop he works as he can. They see each other for band practice, obviously, and whenever they play a show, but it’s been a while since they’ve been able to get drunk together, midday, just the two of them. 

They make the most of it. They take turns ordering rounds of shots and of drinks, Roger deciding on things that actually taste pleasant and Freddie, anything with a name he thinks is cute. They’d started drinking around three and by five thirty Roger is pleasantly drunk. He feels warm and lightheaded but he doesn’t forget, even for a second, about the briar growing inside him. The more he drinks the more he fixates on it, in fact. Before they leave, he makes a trip to the loo and thinks that if Brian were with them it’d be a perfect spot for him to make a mess of Roger. They’d put on like they just needed to use the loo but there, on the tile floor, in a public bathroom where anybody could walk in on them, Brian would relieve himself all over him. Freddie walks him back to his flat and Roger spends the entire trek thinking about getting home, about Brian forcing him to his knees just inside the doorway, the door not even fully closed behind them as Brian pisses in his face. 

He’s hard when he gets back to the flat. He wants it so much his cock is straining against the thin fabric of his shorts. Brian’s beaten him home and he has his phone synced with the speakers, working his way through his usual playlist. His shoes are by the door and his laptop’s been left open on the couch but Roger finds him in their bedroom, back to the door. He’s changing, and Roger watches from the doorway as he lifts his shirt over his head, shakes his hair out with long, slender fingers. His jeans hang low on his narrow hips, and Roger’s reminded again of the rosebud as he crosses the room, as he slides his arms tightly around Brian’s waist. 

He presses a kiss to the pale skin of his back. He must have heard Roger come in because he isn’t surprised, humming softly as he brushes his knuckles against the back of Roger’s wrist. “Hello, love,” he murmurs. 

Roger makes a soft noise against his skin, a greeting he muffles with another kiss to the back of Brian’s shoulder. Brian laughs softly, and Roger can feel the rumble of it against his chest. “How’s Freddie?” 

Roger makes another soft sound, hands low on Brian’s hips as he rocks up on his toes to kiss across his shoulder. “Missed you,” he says, and it’s the truth. Drinking always loosens his morals a little. It makes him horny and a little needy and usually, pretty desperate to be fucked; when he’s drinking without Brian it’s all of those things and a dash of missing him. 

Brian’s smirk is knowing when he turns in Roger’s arms, curling a hand around the back of his neck as he kisses him. It’s a slow, lazy thing, and Roger rocks up on his toes again, leaning into it, leaning into Brian. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs when he pulls away. Roger hums, using his grip on Brian’s hips to guide him backwards, to their bed. Brian sits on the edge of it obediently, and Roger climbs into his lap, gripping his shoulder tightly with one hand as he kisses him again, quicker, less lazy, more forceful. 

“I guess you really did miss me,” Brian says into his mouth, amused. Roger pushes at his shoulders, gets him onto his back on the mattress, shifts up on his knees so he’s straddling his stomach. 

“Want you,” he says. 

He’s unbelievable, sprawled out across the bed, bracketed between Roger’s thighs. His hair is a dark halo against their light coloured sheets and his lips are parted just so. His cheekbones are high and sharp and angular when he tucks his huge hands into the back pockets of Roger’s shorts, pulling him closer. 

“Yeah?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “M’so fucking hard.” 

Brian lifts a brow, sliding one hand out of Roger’s pocket. He brushes his knuckles slowly down the length of his cock through the thin fabric, smiling, crooked, as Roger shivers. “Were you thinking of me?” He asks softly. “Of how much you missed me?” 

He brushes his knuckles against him again, featherlight. “Always thinking about you,” Roger breathes. 

“Yeah?” Brian asks. “Were you thinking about me when you were with Freddie? Were you getting hard under the table when you were with him? Were you thinking about coming home to me,” he asks, voice pitched low, “getting me inside you, getting all hot and bothered in a public place?” 

Roger exhales shakily. He feels sort of hot all over, not like he’s on fire but like he’s a fire that’s recently gone out, like he’s smouldering embers and he’d be hot to the touch. “Do you think Freddie knew?” Brian asks lowly, and Roger feels himself glow even hotter as he flushes all the way down his chest. “Did you try to hide it from him? Or did you want him to know? Were you hoping he’d notice so he’d know what a needy slut you are? 

“Or were you thinking of me at all?” He wonders. “Such a slut you are. Maybe you weren’t thinking of me. Maybe you just wanted to be fucked. Maybe you were hoping Freddie would see how hard you were so he’d take pity on you, fuck you hard and fast right there at your table, in front of everybody else at that bar. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Roger’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth. He lifts his head slowly, overheated and almost sluggish, heavy with the weight of want and need pressing down on his shoulders. “Yes,” he breathes. His voice is thick. 

Brian smirks up at him, all pretty, sharp angles. “Always want people to know how pretty you are when you’re getting fucked, don’t you?” He asks. “But Freddie could never fuck you like I can, could he, baby?” 

Roger shakes his head. Maybe it’s love but Brian’s easily the best shag Roger’s had in his life. He doubts there’s anybody that could fuck him the way that Brian does. “Fuck me,” he says. 

Brian grips his waist, pushing him down onto the mattress and fitting himself between Roger’s legs. “I intend to,” he says. 

He strips Roger quickly, but Roger doesn’t feel any less overheated at the loss of clothing. When Brian fingers him open it’s wet and it’s messy and Roger writhes with it, with how long Brian’s fingers are inside him, pressing against spots in him that make him see entire constellations, that make him shiver and cry out at the ceiling.

He’s murmuring praise that makes him squirm, and then he’s slicking his cock, lifting one of Roger’s legs over his shoulder, pushing into him, splitting Roger open. He moans so loudly it’s probably obscene but he hopes the neighbours can hear him. He hopes the horrible woman that lives upstairs can hear him through the floorboards, he hopes she knows that he’s getting fucked in the room beneath hers at ten to six on a lazy, early summer afternoon. 

Brian fucks him like Roger needs to be fucked, hard and deep and thorough. He moans and whimpers and cries out until Brian curls one hand around his throat, squeezing gently, cutting him off. Roger throws his head back against the pillows, the embers in him burning so brightly they’re nearly flame again. Brian squeezes his throat, just enough pressure that Roger’s vision blurs around the edges and he arches up, off the mattress. It’s so good he’s shaking with it, heel pressed into Brian’s shoulder, but it isn’t enough. He thinks again of the rosebud, of the briar it’s become at the back of his mind, and the noise he makes is high and inhuman. 

“Please,” he rasps. Brian keeps his fingers around his throat but lessens his grip just enough that Roger can speak. Roger misses the pressure almost immediately. “Please,” he breathes again. “I want it so bad.” 

“What do you want, baby?” Brian murmurs. His voice is low and gravelly and Roger wants it so, so much. “Tell me what you want.” 

Roger’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and he wants it so bad he can’t keep pretending that he doesn’t. “I want you to piss on me,” he gasps. 

He can feel Brian’s start in the way his fingers tighten suddenly around his throat. It probably isn’t at all what he thought Roger was going to say, and Roger can feel the way he tenses in surprise. He doesn’t try to take it back, though. He’s still sort of drunk, sober enough that he knows he’ll regret it come morning but still impaired enough that he doesn’t care. He’s so far gone, too, so hard, so full, so close. Brian’s moving inside him, fingers tight around his throat, and Roger feels a bit like a fire’s been lit in the pit of his stomach and he wants it so much he doesn’t care. 

He leans his head back further, curling a hand around Brian’s wrist. He doesn’t care because the alcohol‘s lowering his inhibitions and he wants it so much it’s a physical ache. He wants it so much his fingers are shaking as he whimpers, “I want it so bad. I want you to make a mess of me. Want to be so pretty for you when you piss on me.” 

Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. The words flow out of him, and he thinks he might be babbling but still, he can’t stop. He whines and whimpers and he wants it so much that just saying it, thinking of it does everything to stoke the flame growing in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck,” he chants, “fuck, I want it so bad. Just wanna feel it,” he babbles, “please, I need it,” and then he’s coming so hard he sees white. 

”Fuck,” Brian mutters, and then he’s coming, too. 

Roger clings to him until it’s too much and then Brian’s pulling out, dropping down onto the mattress beside him. It’s another minute before the fog starts to clear and Roger realizes exactly what he’s done. Now that he’s come the world is less hazy and something like dread is coursing through his veins because Brian knows that Roger wants him to piss on him, because Roger just fucking told him. 

He looks up at the ceiling and he wants to die. They have little glow in the dark star stickers stuck up around the room, and Roger fixates on one of them as he considers getting out of bed to throw himself from the balcony. 

Brian’s voice, still low and deep and fucked out, interrupts him. “Do you really want that?” 

Roger doesn’t look away from the little star sticker. “Yeah,” he rasps, and then covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.” He really thinks, for a moment, he might cry. 

He can hear Brian shift against the sheets, can feel it when his hand settles against his hip bone, comforting. “What?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely caught off guard. “Why?” 

“For being a sexual deviant,” Roger mutters into his hands. 

“I already knew you were a sexual deviant, Rog,” he says, and Roger knows he’s joking but he still can’t bear to look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

Brian scoffs softly and thumbs over his hip. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “If you’re really into it, we can try it.” 

It isn’t what Roger was expecting him to say. He opens his fingers slowly. “What?” 

Brian looks every bit open and honest. “Why not?” 

“You don’t think it’s weird and unsanitary?” Roger asks, because all the times that he’s rehearsed this conversation in his head, those have been Brian’s most pressing arguments. 

Brian only shrugs. “You like it,” he says. “I can’t promise I’m going to be into it, but if it’s your thing I’ll try it with you.” 

“Oh,” Roger says. “Really?” 

“Really,” Brian agrees, and he’s smiling fondly as he rubs over his hip again. 

Roger thinks he’s relieved, but the relief is very quickly overshadowed by the excitement that explodes in him like a supernova. The briar in the very back of his mind grows bigger, branches out across his mind until it’s in the forefront, no longer hidden in a dark corner with everything else Roger is ashamed of. 

He feels a little bit like a rubber band, pulled as far as it will stretch, just waiting to be released again. Brian promises to try it with him, to let him work out, at the very least, if he’s as into it in practice as he’s in theory. Over the next few days, Roger feels a spike of anxiety — stage fright, almost — any time he had Brian are left alone, but it doesn’t happen right away. They don’t have the time, usually, before they have something they need to do, or somewhere they need to go, or school or work or band practice gets in the way. Every day that passes Roger can feel the rubber band in him getting pulled just a little bit tighter, more than ready for it, so close to being his but the time just isn’t right. 

The briar of roses grows and rises and thickens and Roger’s a rubber band that gets pulled tighter every day. It’s a week since they’d talked about it and Roger’s pulled so thin he thinks he might just break apart. Brian’s in the living room, planted on the couch, laptop open over his thighs. He’s working on a pretty big research project, and he has been for most of the day. Roger’s been trying his best to leave him to it, he knows that the project is actually a really important part of his overall grade, but he’s already been alone for most of the day and he’s itching for a bit of attention. It doesn’t take too much to get it — he’s been with Brian so long that he knows exactly what it takes to get his attention. It takes a matching set, specifically, lace panties and lace trimmed stockings. They’re new, the ones he pulls on, a gift from Brian in a soft, purple colour. He pairs them with a button down, Brian’s, in a colour that nearly matches but isn’t quite the same. He barely buttons it before he leaves the bedroom to join him, climbing into the chair across the room from him, sitting sideways in it, legs crossed over the arm. He opens his phone, aiming for casual, but really, he watches the way Brian almost double takes as he looks at him, over the open screen of his laptop from underneath his eyelashes. 

The click of his computer as he snaps it shut is audible. “You aren’t subtle,” he says. 

Roger tosses his phone on the coffee table, trying for innocent but probably missing. “No?” He asks. 

“No,” Brian says. His eyes are fixed on the bands of lace around Roger’s thighs so Roger helpfully lifts the shirt up higher, freeing his stockings, the light purple of his panties. “I know what you’re doing,” Brian says. 

“What’s that?” Roger asks. 

He hums but he doesn’t look up from the lace of his stockings. Helpfully, Roger runs his fingertips against one of them, and it’s obvious, the way Brian’s eyes darken as he watches him. “You’re trying to get me to piss on you, aren’t you, baby?” He asks. 

Roger wonders if he can hear how his breath hitches. His heart quickens it’s pace against his ribcage and something hot starts to run with his blood through his veins. They hadn’t really talked about it since that very first time. Roger hadn’t forgotten for a second, but between being busy so they hadn’t even had time for quick shag, he hadn’t found the time to bring it up. He’s still nervous about it, too, and there’s a part of him that worried maybe Brian had been intentionally avoiding bringing it up because he’d changed his minds about wanting to try it. 

His heart beats more quickly because he hadn’t, apparently. He really hadn’t meant to coax it out of him because all things considered, Brian should be working on his research project and this should be one of the days they just don’t have the time. He really just hadn’t seen much of Brian all afternoon and it had been at least several days since their last shag. He figured, at the very most, he could pull Brian from his schoolwork for long enough that he could fuck Roger over some of the living room furniture. 

Brian’s willing to give him more, though. He wants so much more. “Yes,” he admits, and his voice shakes. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s nervous or because he’s so close to getting what he needs he can almost feel it against his skin. 

He curls his fingers into the fabric of his stockings and Brian tracks the movement with his eyes. “Come here,” he says. 

Roger’s across the living room in a second, swinging himself into Brian’s lap, fisting a hand in his hair as he kisses him like it had been an eternity since they last time they’d kissed, like he’s touch starved. Brian’s hands settle on the curve of his ass as he kisses him back just as forcefully. He’s the first to pull away, but he doesn’t go very far, lips brushing Roger’s as he murmurs, “you could’ve just asked.” 

Roger swallows so hard his throat clicks. “Please,” he says softly. “I want it so much.” 

Brian kisses him again, rough and quick and only pulls away when Roger’s lips are kiss bitten and properly swollen. “Since you asked so nicely,” he relents. He presses his fingertips into the lace of Roger’s panties. “Are you going to keep these on? Do you want me to ruin them?” 

Roger nods his head, swallowing again, this time around his heart that’s since lodged itself in his throat. He’s been waiting for this for what feels like a lifetime, and now that it feels like it’s about to become real he feels a little like he can’t catch his breath. He’s nervous, that stage fright feeling, and he doesn’t really know why but his hands shake with it, anyway. “We don’t have to,” he says, twisting his free hand into the shoulder of Brian’s shirt, watching himself do it so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “If you really don’t want to, you can tell me.” 

“I want to,” Brian says sincerely. Roger still doesn’t look at him so he grips his chin, tilting his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. “Unless you aren’t ready,” he says, and he’s giving Roger an out. 

Roger’s hands are shaking with nerves but he still wants it so much it regularly makes him dizzy. He shakes his head. “I want it,” he says. 

Brian hums, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs. 

Roger takes a deep breath before he says, hoarse, “I want you to piss on me.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, nosing at the line of Roger’s jaw, making him shiver. “Right here? Do you want me to do it right here in the living room where anybody across the way could see you?” 

The noise Roger makes is embarrassing and breathy. He nods. 

Brian hums. “I know,” he says. “You always want people to see, don’t you? You get off on having people know what a massive slut you are.” 

He pauses just long enough to suck at the hollow of Roger’s throat, biting at his skin until Roger’s sure he can feel a bruise forming. He grips Brian’s shoulders with both hands as Brian murmurs, “and you’re such a slut for it, aren’t you? You want it so bad, and you want everybody to see how much you want it. You want everybody to know you’re all mine.” 

He slides his hands slowly up Roger’s hips, over his waist. He curls his hands around Roger high under his ribcage, beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Roger wonders if he can feel his goosebumps. “You’re mine, aren’t you, baby?” 

Roger nods again. He’s already dizzyingly hard, hot all over but still shivering. He’s nervous but he’s tense with anticipation, too. 

Brian’s smile is wicked as he looks up at him. “Words, love.” 

“I’m yours,” Roger says. 

His voice is shaking, so much that Brian softens, rubbing his hands soothingly over Roger’s skin. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath his chin. “I’ve got you, love. We don’t have to.” 

Roger shakes his head, gripping Brian’s hair again, keeping him close. “I want to,” he insists. “Please.” 

Brian nods, closes his lips around his Adam’s apple, bites another bruise into his skin. “And you’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?” 

“Yes,” Roger says, and he’s rewarded with another lovebite partway up his neck. 

He takes his time with this one, and it feels massive and dark and swollen by the time he pulls away. He mouths his way up his throat, thumbing down the skin of his stomach. When he finally kisses him it’s forceful and messy and thorough and Roger whimpers into his mouth. He’s gasping for breath when Brian pulls away again, lips swollen, smirk crooked. “On your knees for me, love.” 

Roger slides from his lap and onto his knees on the carpet in front of him. He closes his hands between his thighs to try and keep them from shaking, dangerously close to brushing against his cock. He watches Brian from beneath his eyelashes as Brian stands, towering over him, making Roger feel impossibly small. 

He wants this so much that for a second, his head spins. He curls his fingers into the fabric of his stockings and feels a bit like he might cry but in the best way. He’s nervous, yes, but he’s excited, he’s so full of relief he can’t contain it all and it’s trying to escape him in tears. He’s wanted this for so long that it’s become less of a want and more of a need and he’s about to what he needs so desperately. He feels like he’d been underwater since the rosebud had sprouted and only now he’s coming up for air. “Please,” he breathes. 

“Gonna make a mess of you, love,” Brian promises. He tangles one hand in Roger’s hair, forcing it back, and Roger gasps loudly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he gasps again. Brian hums, jeans unbuttoned and hanging low on his hips. 

“And you can’t wait for it, can you?” He asks lowly. Roger shakes his head, and Brian hums softly, slowly easing his cock from beneath the fabric of his boxers. “My good boy,” he croons softly. “So pretty on your knees for me. And you’re gonna be even prettier when you’re drenched in my piss, aren’t you?” 

Roger nods again, head still held back, looking up at him. “Please,” he breathes. “ _Please_. I need it so much.” 

Brian keeps one hand in hand Roger’s hair as he curls the other around his cock. “My beautiful boy,” he murmurs. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he reminds him again, and then it’s happening. 

It’s happening, and Roger feels like he’s been set on fire. He cries out, arching up, into it, wanton and unashamed as Brian pisses on him. He doesn’t stop talking, hand tight in Roger’s hair as he croons. “My good boy,” he murmurs, and Roger can’t keep quiet for the life of him, gasping and moaning and keening. “So pretty like this, my love,” Brian murmurs. “You take it so well for me. Such a good boy.” 

There are tongues of flame licking up Roger’s spine and the noises he’s making are high and pitchy and embarrassing. There had been a part of him that was almost afraid he wouldn’t like it. For all his want, he’d never actually tried it and there had always been the chance that once he had, he’d be disappointed. 

He isn’t disappointed. It’s better than he ever could have imagined it being and he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. He feels like he’s a rubber band that’s finally been released, like he’s a balloon of pent up energy that’s finally been popped. It’s warm where it hits him, running down his chest, his face, wetting his hair. 

“You’re always so good for me, baby,” Brian murmurs, and Roger can feel it as runs down his stomach, beneath the open fabric of his shirt. “My pretty baby,” he croons. 

Roger’s hand is still shaking when he pushes it down the front of his panties and curls it around his cock. He barely gets his hand around himself before he’s coming, so hard he doubles over with it, so quickly it makes him scream. 

He sees constellations behind his eyelids and for a long time, the world won’t stop spinning. In all, the whole exchange takes maybe thirty seconds but Roger shakes like it’s been hours. He feels warm and wet and wonderful, tears tracking down his cheeks in his relief. 

He pants into the hardwood and shakes through the aftershocks for a long, still moment. 

Brian’s the first to speak again. “Holy shit,” he says. 

Roger lifts himself from the carpet slowly, looking up at him. He can only imagine what a mess he must be, swollen lips and puffy eyes and damp with Brian’s piss, but Brian’s looking at him like he wants to devour him and he’s already mostly hard. 

It feels like a victory. “What did you think?” He asks, and his voice is ruined. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Brian says thickly. 

In truth, in the afterglow, Roger feels shaky and sticky and like he’s never been more comfortable, kneeling at Brian’s feet, soaked with it. He pushes at Brian’s hips until he sits back on the couch and then fits himself between his legs, curling a hand around the base of his cock, wrapping his lips around it. Brian grips his hair again, babbling praise as Roger fits his cock down his throat because Brian is so good to him and this is the least he can do. He swallows around him until Brian is coming down his throat, and then he’s pulling off, chest heaving, and leaning his forehead against Brian’s thigh as he tries to catch his breath. 

Brian runs his fingers through his hair and pants with him. Minutes pass and it’s quiet between them until Roger climbs shakily to his feet and immediately into Brian’s lap. Brian’s arms circle his waist as he presses his face into the side of his neck, arms tight around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says softly. 

He nods and holds Roger close against his chest, apparently unbothered that he’s still damp with his piss. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?” 

“It was better,” Roger admits, and he can feel Brian’s smile when he kisses the side of his head. 

“We could always try it again,” he offers, and Roger’s tired and his head feels heavy but his heart still skips a beat in his chest. 

“Yeah?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Brian agrees, “if you’d like.” 

It’s like watering the rosebud that grows in the very back of his mind. He feels like he’s a rubber band that’s finally been let go, but he can feel it starting to stretch again, too. He’s relieved that he’s tried it but now he knows he loves it, now he knows exactly how much he needs it, now he wants it again. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Brian smiles and kisses the side of his head again. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

He bundles Roger up in his arms, carries him to the bathroom, lays him out in the bath and helps clean him up with careful, gentle fingers. Afterward, Brian returns to his research project and Roger curls up at his side, head pillowed on his shoulder. He feels warm and pleasant and there’s early summer sunlight filtering in between the gaps in the curtains. He’s wearing Brian clothes again, a shirt and a pair of shorts that are much too big for him, and he feels small and soft and satisfied. He drifts to sleep like that, sated like he hasn’t been in long time.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> feel free to come find me on [tumblr](http://sweetheaert.tumblr.com) and talk to me about roger’s piss kink or send me anon hate about much you hated this filth, it’s up to you


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